Stanford or Bust
by ThePrettiestPoison
Summary: Yes, ANOTHER one of those hundreds of stories about the night Sam left for Stanford. Read and Review? I can't promise it's amazing, but I promise it isn't atrocious! T for language eventually.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: So...hello there. My lovely, lovely readers. So...my other two stories have been put on hiatus for a while (you'd probably call it neglect, as I haven't informed any of you...and I've been messaged about it,) so here's your formal apology. To be honest I didn't think about continuing We Do What We Must, because I like where it stopped but you guys wanted more so I may be able to throw out another chapter of that once I feel inspired. And I know that Irrefutably Human needs to go one I just...yeah...I'm bad. Anyways!**

**This one right here is about the night that Sam left for Stanford. It will probably only be two or three chapters. I tried to make it one but I hate writing lengthy chapters that satisfy you all. I'd must rather leave you all in cliffhangers or awkward places. Because...I'm mean. Anyways. Yes. There. I'm rambling. Onward. Read. Enjoy. Critique. Comment. Whatever you like.**

Sam shifted awkwardly on the uncomfortable, cheaply upholstered chair. The envelope before him is slightly crumpled from wear—he's been carrying it around for the past three and a half weeks. Bobby had handed it to him with a surprisingly authoritative quirked eyebrow, forcing Sam to open it in front of him. So of course both Sam and Bobby had known for the past three and half weeks that Sam would, eventually, be leaving. The problem remained that neither of them had told Dean or John yet. Bobby had left that distinct pleasure to Sam out of sheer self-preservation.

The sound of keys jiggling the tumblers in the motel room door tore Sam from his trance, and he stuffed the envelope back in his coat pocket just as Dean came through the door. Sam fumbled for the beaten copy of Catcher in the Rye that was always within an arm's reach.

"Hey," Dean chirped, juggling two bags of diner food and three soft drinks while he struggled with the keys.

"Hey," Sam breathed, reflecting on the nerves he could hear in his own voice. "Where's Dad?"

"Police department. He'll be back in a while," Dean answered dryly, disregarding the note of anxiety in his brother's voice. Sam drummed his knuckles against the polished wood of the table…_Please don't flip out on me_.

"Can I get your help with something?" His eyes were trained on the framed wall art to his immediate left. Knowing that his brother couldn't see the guilty look in his eyes comforted him a little, not that it was any less conspicuous. The photograph was a moose standing in a river; just a cheap print that was there for the sake of being there.

Dean frowned suspiciously, taking a cautious step towards his brother. "With what?"

Sam gave his brother one alarmingly guilty glance before pulling out the envelope. Dean didn't even try to guess what it was until Sam slid it towards him. Dean plucked it off the table, still eying his brother suspiciously. He turned it over a few times in his hands before pulling out its contents.

"Stanford?"

Sam just nodded.

"So you're smart enough to go to Stanford."

"Yeah," Sam couldn't help but smile genuinly. Years of studying from the back of the Impala and diner booths had paid off, by some grace of God.

"Congrats, Nerd. So what?" Dean shrugged, feigning nonchalance. Dean wasn't stupid. The question hung in the air like something tangible. Heavy. The weight made Sam's shoulders hunch, and he thought maybe it was his guilty conscience weighing him down. struggled with the words. He tried desperately to think of some way to say it that didn't sound so painfully blunt. The smile faded into an awkward frown.

"So I'm going." He watched emotions flit across his brother's face, one after the other. Frustration, confusion, disappointment, anxiety, more confusion…it all melted together then, and the look of abandonment that came over Dean for a period of roughly three seconds was enough to tear Sam's heart to shreds. And then, all at once, it was gone. Dean cleared his throat and replaced the pained expression for an emotionless mask.

"What do you want help with? Packing?" his voice was gruff with an edge to it, and reminded Sam so much of his father that he almost regretted telling him first. He realized then that it might have been foolish to assume that Dean would help Sam break the news. Dean was cut from the same mold that John was, and Sam knew it. Even Bobby, who had shown more pride in Sam's accomplishment than he thought he would, hadn't neglected to warn him about this particular confrontation.

"Telling dad?" Sam ventured, giving his brother the full effect of his most pleading gaze.

"Stop with the puppy-dog eyes, _Samantha_. Not this time," Dean threw the envelope back down on the table and ran a hand through his hair. He seemed to be thinking hard about something. "Why would you do this to us?" The accustation in his tone made Sam shrink back a little.

"I just…" Sam worried his bottom lip for a few seconds, and time stretched on too slow. Dean didn't stop waiting for him to finish. "I want to be…_normal_."

He may was well have said he wanted to be a woman, the way Dean looked at him then. Eyes narrowed, brow furrowed, arms crossed across his chest...

"'_Normal'_? 'Normal' people get killed in their sleep by monsters, Sam. 'Normal' people don't know what we know."

"I think it's good that I know what I know. I won't end up like those other people. I know what to look for. I can be careful."

"Yeah well I know you. You're going to be too busy with your nose in a book to watch your own back and me and dad aren't going to be able to help you," Dean's voice grew an octave out of what Sam hated to think was panic.

"I don't need a babysitter, Dean!"

"No, but you _need_ your family."

"Not as much as you need me," Sam grumbled. The words were hardly out of his mouth before he realized what he'd just said. He grimaced inwardly, trying to think of a way to take that back. "I didn't mean…"

"Save it," Dean snapped harshly. Sam was about to apologize again, but he stopped dead at the sound of the Impala's restrained purr as it slid into the parking lot outside. There was one last snarl of discontent from the throaty engine before it was cut short and the door slammed shut. John Winchester was through the door within moments, heaving a mound of paperwork onto the dresser by the door. Half a dozen manila envelopes and five pounds worth of loose papers made up this hunt's pile of evidence.

"Boys," John greeted them gruffly. "What's going on?"

He didn't really want an answer. Sam knew that. It wasn't that he didn't care; it was that he was focused elsewhere. But Sam needed him now, as a father. He wasn't about to put this off anymore.

"I got some mail…" Sam said awkwardly. It wasn't exactly a lie. It was just mail from a while ago. He wondered if that would be added to the pile of ammunition his dad was likely to hold against him in the inevitable battle.

**I have a thing for cliffhangers, I told you. Love me! Haha Reviews are much appreciated. Please and thank you!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for reading! Reviews are always appreciated. This is FanFiction so I'm assuming you know that I'm not trying to say that I am responsible for the lovely characters herein.**

John narrowed his eyes in black suspicion, which made Sam glance over at Dean for some kind of support. This was usually how any dispute started, but Sam had the idea that this one might end a little differently. And by differently, he was sure that he meant worse.

"Mail from who?"

"A school."

"You got your GED last year," John's tone was clipped.

"No. It's from a college."

"Why would a school be sending _you_ mail?"

"It's an acceptance letter, dad." And because he was positive his father wouldn't ask. "From Stanford." John Winchester was not naïve to the gravity of that acceptance letter. He'd always been proud of his son's brains. Just now, though, his chest wasn't exactly swelling with pride.

"And?"

He was going to make Sam say it. Sam had already assumed as much, though, and so he sucked in a breath, counted to five, and let it out slowly. He could only hope his voice wasn't shaking as much as he thought. "So I want to go."

John said nothing. His mind flashed with images of his son's tattered body on the ground, laying in a pool of his own blood. Of his son, burning alive…Slowly his thoughts deteriorated from mere reflections of his imagination to memories. From past hunts. From that night. He time Sam broke his arm hunting a skin walker. Black eyes from the backfire of guns he was too young to fire. Sam trapped in a corner by a banshee while Dean and John were almost too far off to save him. Bruises. Abrasions. Blood. Yellow eyes. Mary.

And that was that. That was all that consumed John's thoughts as he listened to Sam prattle on about unimportant details pertaining to this school. Sam was smiling in spite of the severity of the situation. Excitement was clear on his face as he described his plan to John. It was well thought out. He'd spent months, maybe years figuring all this out and saving.

"Stop, Sam. Just stop," John's voice cracked and he cleared his throat, almost angrily. "You're not going to any damn school. The hell are you thinking?"

"Dad, I'm definitely going," Sam took a step forward, his tone firm. "I'm going to school. I'm thinking about my future."

"So am I, Sam. Your future isn't lying dead in a ditch somewhere hundreds of miles away from your family. What about us, Sam?"

Sam ignored the attempt at a guilt trip. "I'm not going to die at school, dad. I can watch my own back."

"Yeah? And how would you know that? You've never been on your own for longer than a few days!" John's voice raised a few octaves and Sam turned to Dean for help. His brother remained a statue, his arms crossed over his chest, expression just as unreadable as always. Sam was on his own.

"I always knew what to watch out for and I still do!"

"I thought you knew family meant more than some damn school!" John yelled back. Sam was well aware that his father was trying to guilt him now. He was taking this much more personally than Sam would have assumed.

"I'm not _abandoning_ you guys forever, Dad! It's a few years and I can come back."

It was quiet for so long that at first Sam thought perhaps his father had realized he had lost the argument. Perhaps he was moments away from surrendering with a grumble and accepting the inevitable. Perhaps there didn't have to be this tension forever. It was, for a moment, as though he wasn't about to throw out the impossible ultimatum that no son should ever have to decide on.

"If you leave us you'd better just stay gone."

**There shall be one more chapter of this. Sorry for the lack of Dean. More of him in the next chapter. I just always thought he would be quieter about this around his father, being as obedient as he always was.**


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